In the Irons in Titusville

I’m writing to you from Titusville, Florida. And, as if we needed any more proof right now that Mother Nature rules, we’ve been here for four days waiting on two things – the wind to subside and our dinghy motor to be repaired. You might imagine that the one has to do with the other.

On the 13th of January, we left the Seven Seas Marina just south of Daytona Beach headed for Titusville. We were pulling the dinghy behind us with the motor attached. The wind started picking up as we traveled down the Mosquito Lagoon and when we turned starboard to go through the Crosshaul Canal, a small speedboat came at us from the other direction. As he passed us, he yelled “The wind is really strong!” I assumed that he was telling us the crosswind at the entrance to the canal was really strong, so be careful of the turn going into it. That was true, but once we came out of the canal on the Indian River side, we understood why he was trying to warn us.

The wind was coming straight out of the south and screaming across the water like a banshee. Although the river is wide, it is extremely shallow. The waterway canal is very narrow and precise as you cut across the river. Its direction put us at about a ninety-degree angle to the wind. Whitecaps of 2-3 feet splashed on Up Jinks’ port side as we started to cross.

John asked me to keep an eye on the dinghy and let him know if it flipped over. My first thought was “that won’t happen because the motor will weight it down.” But, as we moved away from the canal and out into the open exposure of the river, I watched as the wind whipped the dinghy around like a piece of paper. Then, all of a sudden, it went completely over with the motor submerged underneath.

John put me on the helm and told me to turn up into the wind and fall off to starboard on his signal. He was hoping by doing this, the dinghy would fill with wind enough to help him turn it over. After a couple of attempts, it did just that. And, we continued on. But, as if she had been toying with us, Mother Nature upped the ante. The wind started gusting even harder and within minutes, flipped the dinghy back over as if with a spatula.

We tried the same strategy as before, but to no avail. So, John asked me to head up into the wind one more time and then fall off starboard farther downwind than before until we were completely crosswise to it. With all of the commotion of the situation, I failed to notice that the wind was pushing us to the starboard side of the channel. So, as soon as I fell off and headed downwind, we abruptly stopped as our keel hit a sandbar underneath.

That is a very helpless feeling – being stuck in the middle of the river with the wind swirling and waves lapping at you. Of course, the real danger is the boat listing over to one side so that you can’t maneuver it. John immediately took the helm and started pressing Up Jinks first one way, then the next, probing for a way off of the sand bar. The channel markers were only about ten feet from us, so we knew we couldn’t be too far from it if we could only find an angle to it. As John would power the motor up, sand would come churning up behind the boat. You could almost feel every inch of the hull straining to pull her loose.

There is a definite sensation when the boat releases from the bottom. It’s not one of fanfare or bravado – just subtle movement. Whereas before, you were willing yourself to move, now you really are doing so. And, there is a great sense of relief.

John quickly moved us back into the channel and we headed towards the next marker. The upside-down dinghy with its ill-fated motor dragged along behind us. John made a couple of attempts to turn it over, but it wouldn’t budge. The only thing he could tell was that the “cowling” (cover) for the motor had been wrenched off.

The Titusville Marina was about two miles further. For that distance, John kept saying to himself “I KNOW better than that! I KNOW to take the dinghy motor off regardless!” (These are not EXACTLY the words he used, but the translation is accurate!) Now, some of you may recall that this particular motor was the one we bought last year to replace the motor that plunged into the brink at Okracoke. So, it’s only eight months old. All John could do was shake his head and proclaim to anybody who would listen “There’s no wisdom in the second kick of a mule.”

We made it safely into our slip with the help of some dockhands. After getting the dinghy turned over, John took the motor off and we hoisted it onto the dock.
By that time, the dock master appeared and offered to take the motor to a place where someone could assess it and repair it if possible.

So, that was four days ago. And, the wind has howled continuously for all four. It’s the kind of wind that blows so fast the birds just open up their wings and tread air. It makes a “halyard orchestra” out of every marina as halyards beat against masts to the direction of some drunken maestro. Two of the days, Mother Nature threw in some sideways rain, the kind that comes in under the umbrella and gets you wet from the knees down.

When the weather is this bad and you’re docked on a sailboat, there is really only one viable strategy. You have to rent a car or you’ll go nuts. So, we arranged with Enterprise to come pick us up on Friday morning and we rented the car for the weekend. Our first order of business was to ride around and see what Titusville was all about. I can tell you this, it’s like being in a “Back to the Future” movie. At least the downtown area gives you that feeling.

The main street running through town is U.S. 1 which used to be the big snake crawling down the entire eastern coastline before I-95 came along. Scattered throughout the downtown area are motels, the old single-story ranch style that prevailed when U.S. 1 was king. In most other places, these motels are boarded up or converted to some other use. But, in Titusville, for some reason, they have survived. They may have recognizable shapes of a former Howard Johnson’s or Stuckey’s, but the names have changed to Bay View Inn and Red Oak Motel. Their marquees boast upgrades of cable television with HBO and ESPN. Except for that, you’d swear you were back in the 50’s.

The “Miracle City” Mall looks like it could use one. Only one of the anchor stores is open – J.C. Penney. The Belk’s at the other end is closed up tight, gone to some other, better place, I guess.

The population appears to be blue collar if the group that eats at “Your Place” is any indication. That’s the restaurant attached to one of the motels in town. Titusville does not boast the fancy resort atmosphere of some of the rest of Florida. It is definitely “old” Florida. But, it is hospitable. The folks at the marina have been very nice.

On our first cruise around town, we spotted the Emma Parrish Theater, sort of a salmon color stucco building, with a brightly lit marquee advertising the latest offering of the Titusville Playhouse -“Getting Away With Murder.” That night was opening night, and I suggested to John that maybe we could take in some live entertainment after dinner. He pulled the car up to the curb and I hopped out, sloshing my way to the office of the Titusville Playhouse. The tickets were $13 each. Had I been three years older, they would have been half that. The show would start at 8:00.

We decided to make a real night of it and go to the Dixie Crossroads Restaurant before the show. This was the most touted eating establishment for Titusville in the cruising guide. So, we headed back to the boat to get cleaned up and struck out for dinner around 6:00. Dixie Crossroads is what I would describe as an “institution.” It sits on a sprawling campus along Garden Street with acres of sand parking lot surrounding the actual restaurant itself. When you get about three blocks away, you actually begin to smell the grease. By 6:15, the parking lot was full. Patrons were lined up along both walls of the lobby, but the place is so big, the wait was only a few minutes.

The meal started off with unsolicited, unordered corn fritters lightly dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Nothing in them was legal by South Beach diet standards. Not the corn, not the sugar, not anything. But, John and I ate them like popcorn, greedily as if somebody might take them away. Then, we both ordered the combination platter with one-half river shrimp and one-half rock shrimp – fried. For good measure, we had a salad and baked sweet potato, but the damage was done. We walked out of Dixie Crossroads like we had just swallowed an anchor.

We made it to the Emma Parrish Theater in plenty of time. Apparently, the building itself is 100-years old this year. It looks every bit of it, especially after the hurricanes this fall ruined the roof. There is absolutely nothing sophisticated about the theater. The audience sits in ladder-back chairs scattered around tables that you can use to support your refreshments. The stage is perfectly adequate space wise, but there are no fancy banks of wing lights or multiple curtain risers.

The play (written by Neil Simon) centered around seven members of a therapy group whose therapist had been murdered. As the story unfolded, it was obvious that one of the patients actually committed the crime. The plot thickened to the consistency of pea soup before the real culprit was revealed to the audience. Then, one by one, he picked off the others until he alone was left. At that point, the building they were in was imploded and all of the evidence was destroyed. Pretty much your typical, believable, everyday circumstance.

It was enjoyable, if for no other reason than to experience the environment. All of the actors were local and they approached their roles with the enthusiasm of amateurs. There were no gaffs or obviously missed lines, and some of it was pretty fast paced. The set reminded me of ones that I’ve helped execute in my thespian forays in Gaffney and Columbia. Basically a little tacky, but functional. All in all, a delightful couple of hours out from the screaming wind and rain.

When we woke up on Saturday morning, the weather had improved a little. It wasn’t raining. The wind was still roiling through the marina. (I can’t imagine what this place was like during the hurricanes!) We decided to drive over to the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral and spend the day there.

If you ever get the chance to go to the center, you should. It is an awe-inspiring park with exhibits that take you from the beginnings of the space program to an overview of the space shuttle and its essential participation in the international space station. Buses carry you right by the huge building where the shuttles are attached to their rocket launchers and the payloads are loaded in the cargo bays. For the lay person, it’s a little overwhelming to comprehend the thousands of hours that go into a single launch. There hasn’t been a shuttle mission since the explosion of Columbia over Texas in 2003. If all goes well, NASA is hoping for a launch this May.

There were several things that struck me as we experienced the exhibits. I recalled very vividly when the Russians launched Sputnik and this country went through a collective panic. Then, when Yuri Gagarin went into space, we began to have a real problem with patriotic self-image. But, who can not be inspired upon hearing the words again of John F. Kennedy in the speech he gave at Rice – “ …. And, we will do these and the other things not because they are easy, but because they are hard……”

I remembered exactly where I was when Alan Shepard catapulted into history as the first American to fly in space. I was in the 7th grade and my parents let me stay home from school to watch it on television. My grandmother Kendrick had an apartment in the basement of our house. She invited me to come downstairs and watch the launch with her. I’ll never forget what she said as the spacecraft lifted off. “Do you realize that in my lifetime, I have witnessed the first flight of man and now the first space flight of man?”

I remembered also how for the longest time, the whole country would stop and watch each launch. It was new and special then, not to be taken for granted. Walter Cronkite’s voice would overlay the images of the rocket leaving the earth. We were brought together as a country by the space program. When there were failures, we mourned. When there were successes, we cheered. When Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon for the first time, we all brought a personal sense of pride to the table.

What is so compelling about the program now is the realization of a truly global effort in the International Space Station. Seventeen countries are working together to build and staff the station. Our old enemy, Russia, is now our ally in science. It certainly begs the question that how is it in some human endeavors – science, the arts, athletics – we find a common denominator of understanding and cooperation? Yet, in those critical arenas of politics and religion, this camaraderie is so elusive.

On Sunday, the 16th, we woke up to dismal weather still. We decided to take the car and drive down to Cocoa. That’s where the dinghy motor was being repaired and John thought they might be open and he could possibly retrieve the motor while we still had the car. Unfortunately, they were closed, but we drove on across the Indian River and Merritt Island out to Cocoa Beach. This was a nice change of pace from Titusville. The downtown area of Cocoa Beach is very quaint with all kinds of boutiques and shops. We had lunch at the Banker’s Bar and Grill. Then, we drove back over to Titusville and went to see “The Aviator.” Excellent movie.

So, now I’ve caught us up. We should get the motor tomorrow, the 18th. The dockmaster, as it turns out, was on vacation this week, but he has arranged to pick the motor up and bring it to us (after his daughter’s volleyball match). Then, we’ll need to see what the weather is going to do. It’s really cold right now, but by Wednesday it’s supposed to moderate enough to get back on the waterway. We took a walk over across the highway to a boat store just to have something to do. There is an update on Titusville. Apparently, it’s getting ready to have a complete makeover. The next time we come through, it won’t be the throw back to the 50’s that we experienced. Major chunks of property have already been sold to developers who plan to build condominiums. The “Miracle City” Mall will be leveled. The old motels probably will be as well. Hopefully, somebody will protect the Emma Parrish Theater. You really shouldn’t do away with everything.